


Sollux: Bee Calm

by Aewin



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Childhood Memories, F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance, Plushies, References to body horror, References to helmsmen, aka daymares in this context
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-30
Updated: 2013-08-30
Packaged: 2017-12-25 02:57:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/947803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aewin/pseuds/Aewin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the daymares are too much to handle, Sollux Captor locks his doors and turns to a wigglerhood gift for comfort.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sollux: Bee Calm

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dragonnova](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragonnova/gifts).



> For the lovely [Dragonnova](http://dragonnova.tumblr.com), who had a rather stressful day and deserves all the nice things.

You wake up thrashing, splashing sopor into your eyes and panting heavily as your head throbs. It’s not quite a migraine, so your head probably bounced off the walls of your ‘coon while you were still stuck in your daymare land of needles and knives, data and pulsing wires and _pain_ , _confusion, anger_. It’s the second time in a handful of days, fuck.

Sleep still sounds nice, but this has happened often enough for you to acknowledge that between the frazzled nerves, the spreading pain in your head, and the sopor stinging in your eyes, it would be a waste of your fucking time to try to go back under. Maybe you can get something useful done. Or maybe you can wash this hellish sopor out of your eyes, because the rubbing is only making it worse and it’s just another thing grinding on your frayed nerves that you didn’t need right now. Or _ever_ , really.

You sigh exaggeratedly, but it fails to express your frustration adequately. You make yourself flop out of the ‘coon and into the ablution block. The warm spray of water gets the sopor out of your eye and helps you feel more troll and less undead, but your vision is still fuzzy as you melt into your husktop chair. It takes you a moment of squinting at blurry text before you remember that hey, glasses are a thing that happen to be expressly designed to fix this particularly problem and that you happen to own a pair. Two pairs, actually, but if you have a pair of pairs, is it still called a pair? (Crap, you must have hit your head harder than you thought.)

The glasses turn out to be a moot point, because AA isn’t online and you’re certainly not talking to KK in this state. The newest game grub in your favorite series just makes you throw down your controller, because you get stuck in a glitchy wall—and _really_ , who the hell puts the save point that far away from the boss? Utter incompetence.

There’s a tense, vibrating energy shooting through you, but you don’t know what to _do_ with it, so you slump against a wall and just sort of…sit. And stare. And sigh. The longer you contemplate your shitty daymares and shitty sleep schedule and shitty, overactive metabolism, the more you spiral down into a glum, bitter place inside of you, and you droop until you’re hunched over and curled into yourself, the crackle of stray psionics flickering between your fingers and sending shadows playing along your limp, lightly-curled hands. You clench them into fists, but the light just spills from the sides instead.

Fuck. You’re gonna have to do it.

With a groan, you push yourself up and check the lock on the door. It’s firmly secured, so you duck behind your servers, careful to avoid stepping in honey or tripping over stray cables. The hollowed-out, honey-proof compartment squeaks open loudly, and you wince and put oiling the hinges onto your mental to-do list. A treasured wigglerhood toy sits inside, and you swallow nervously as you take it out. You’re always a little paranoid about this thing because you never know when KK’s going to take it upon himself to bust into your hive demanding proof that you haven’t dropped off the face of the planet. He’d be completely fucking insufferable if he got wind of this.

A few kicks clear the abandoned shurikens out of the way, and you settle into the area between your recuperacoon and the wall, drawing your legs up to your chest and burying your nose in one of the bee’s purple stripes. It still smells like dirt and grass. Aradia was just learning to fly when she made this, and fell down enough on her way over that you had to patch her up while she was shooshing you.

You think you were three at the time, which was way too early to see what you saw. When you poked your head out of the hive and watched the drones carry off a screaming psionic oliveblood, you could only make out a few words— _no_ , _please_ , and _helmsman_. Curiosity got the better of you, and you spent the night in horrified fascination, combing through encyclopedias and archives in a daze, tracing your finger over diagrams on-screen as you learned your fate. Then the daymares started and you woke up like this for the first time, smashing your head and crying out for Aradia, but she couldn’t come because it was three in the fucking afternoon and the world hates your pathetic ass.

She talked to you, though. She calmed you over Trollian until you stopped killing bees with errant sparks of psionics, and at six in the evening she said she was coming over. You paced, and gathered up your dead bees with trembling hands, and waited. She burst through your door an hour later, covered with dirt and grass and bloody scrapes, but she was still smiling that ridiculous smile when she pressed the dirt-streaked, crookedly-stitched plush into your hands and told you to just “bee calm.”

(You still haven’t washed it.)

You relax and let yourself inhale tickling tufts of stray fuzz, and wake up in the evening to the familiar serenade of KK’s profanity. _Fuck_. You almost trip over a cable in your rush to get the bee back into the box, and barely remember not to slam the squeaky flap shut. KK almost bangs on your head when you open the door. He’s scowling, but when is he _not?_

You lean on the door frame. “Sup, KK?”

“You fucking tell me, Sollux! I’ve been trolling you for hours, where the globewhiffing hell _were_ you!?”

“Oh, you know, KK. Pwning noobs, hacking your porn, fighting off hot girls.”

 _He can never know_.

**Author's Note:**

> My tumblr is [here](http://solluxisms.tumblr.com), but there is a high probability that if you click that link there will be Captor tentacle junk in your face. You should be comfortable with NSFW content if you want to visit.


End file.
